Afternoon in the arena Oneshot
by Sitting Pretty Still
Summary: We all know from the High Lord that Akkarin went to Sachaka as a warrior. Short one shot on what began it all, plus how it all built up.


It was mid-afternoon, a few hours before the final gong was due to ring, and tomorrow was free day. The second year novices kept shifting impatiently: no longer impressed by simple practise bouts in the arena. Everyone chatted amongst themselves, with the exception of four students: two in the traditional battle position, and another two watching avidly, occasionally meeting eyes….

Glancing across the arena to Lorlen, Akkarin smothered a grin. He knew that Lorlen must be itching to take his turn at the mock duel the novices often engaged in: his love of strategy meaning that he often emerged victorious. Akkarin did not resent this: on the contrary, he revelled in his friend's victories. It may also have had something to do with the fact that, with his powers unblocked (to show fairness to the weaker novices, extremely strong students had their power curbed by the teacher) his chance of success increased dramatically. Akkarin knew this for a fact, having tested it several times during his first year, when a few of his classmates had failed to understand that, despite his small stature, he was no pushover.

From the other side of the group of students, Lorlen saw his best friend's stifled grin, and smiled in reply, his foot raising small clouds of sand as he tapped it and his hands clenching and unclenching, as if to prepare for sending strikes. Impatiently, Lorlen watched the novices Atina and Gillan send weak strike after weak strike at each other. He'd be here all day at this rate: it was no secret that the two were sweet on each other, and they were almost certainly holding back, in a foolish attempt not to hurt each other (what where the shields for, if not that!). Finally, Lord Balkan, the warrior skills teacher, called a halt to their bout, looking faintly amused, and Lorlen stepped up along with Akkarin.

"_I'll try not to beat you _**too**_ badly."_ Lorlen sent the thought magically to Akkarin, winking.

"_You only wish you could"_ replied Akkarin, although Lorlen thought he sensed a faint undercurrent of resignation.

"Stop communicating, and conserve your energy," Balkan boomed. "Pre-battle banter merely distracts the mind, and uses up precious power. Whilst it takes only a tiny amount, all the energy you have is vital, and the smallest fraction of power can make a difference between life and death!"

Lorlen sighed. There hadn't been so much as a minor dispute outside of the guild for centauries, let alone a battle, and sometimes he felt the warrior skills teacher was paranoid.

"You may…begin!"

As the bright flash of light pulsed across the arena, Akkarin reacted fast, throwing a strong shield up instants before a barrage of force strikes battered it. He raised his arms, brown novice robes swirling around his calves as, grinning, he sent a volley back. Disguising some simple heat strikes amongst them, Akkarin hoped that Lorlen was lazy enough to protect himself with a shield that defended him from only one type of attack.

Lorlen wasn't, of course. Akkarin hadn't held out much hope, really. Cursing under his breath, he switched his approach, sending out a variety of strikes in all directions. As Lorlen was distracted, watching them, Akkarin sent a stream of force strikes low on the ground, so transparent as to be almost invisible. For a moment he thought his scheme had worked: Lorlen stepped back, his gaze dropping fast. But next minute, the air around Akkarin's head was filled with shining red light. Confused, Akkarin strained to think what Lorlen had done. Within seconds, he deduced that the lights were extremely weak heat strikes, no threat on their own, even without a shield, but combined, just enough to count as a fatal hit. Grinning unconcernedly, he weakened the shield, trying to conserve power (it was a waste, to drain his strength over these weak strikes) when a large force struck him from the left, shattering his shield and propelling him towards the other novices.

"Halt!"

Recovering from Lorlen's well timed heart strike, Akkarin walked over to his opponent smiling, and clapped him on the shoulder. Quietly, his voice indistinct to all but Lorlen over his classmates' chatter, he promised  
"I'll beat you one day, my friend"

Lorlen had the gall to chuckle at his words, and in an equally quiet tone replied

"I won't hold my breath!"

That was it. Akkarin was determined to prove his best friend wrong. After signing up for extra warrior lessons with Balkan, he spent most of his spare time practising. Within 6 months, he beat Lorlen more often than not (although this was made easier my Lorlen's natural inclination towards the quiet, disciplined skill of healing). In a year, he was well known throughout the university for his prodigious fighting skill. By the time of his graduation, he had been bitten by the warrior bug, and was desperate to travel to foreign lands, refining his technique, and looking for ways to improve, his reasoning being that this trip would be a grand adventure, a life changing experience and a one time opportunity. He first planned to visit the Great Library of Elyne, then….well, who knew?


End file.
